Vishaka George

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“The girls
grow vegetables that feed us, but the boys – we do it to market the vegetables,” says
Lakshmikanth Reddy.

He’s eloquent, confident and notably
entrepreneurial. Traits he honed during his tenure as prime minister, head of opposition
and, currently, as minister of health.

That Lakshmikanth’s isn’t a household name is not
surprising. He is 17.

He and his fellow ministers are addressing an
audience that has gathered to observe the success of their parliament.

Unlike the model United Nations simulation that
many elite schools conduct, this body needs its members to assemble more than
just once a year.  Here, they do not
discuss foreign policy in formal dress, nor suggest lofty solutions to the
world’s weighty problems. Instead, as heads of various ministries such as
education and health, they make decisions that drive their everyday lives. All
this with one important clause – least interference from adults.

These ministers do not live on prime real estate in
New Delhi. They reside in Nachikuppam village amid the hills of Veppanapalli taluk
of Tamil Nadu’s Krishnagiri district.  And unlike their official counterparts, they
never make the news.

Child parliaments are common in this part of the
country. And as a reporter you worry that stories on them end up being a little
too cute. What makes this one unique, though, is that all its members are HIV-positive.
Their self-regulated, teenaged parliament is in Snehagram, a vocational
training and rehabilitation centre that
is also their home.

The 2017 <a href="http://www.unaids.org/en/resources/documents/2017/2017_data_book">UNAIDS </a>report shows that 80,000 people were diagnosed
with HIV in India in 2016, down from 1.5 lakhs in 2005. The national anti-AIDS
campaign launched in 2004, which ensured free treatment, is largely credited
with that fall.

“The number of newly infected HIV patients has come
down over the last decade,” says Dr. G.D Ravindran, a professor of
medicine at St. Johns Medical College, Bengaluru. That has happened with "the
coming of the antiretroviral therapy [ART] and awareness programmes held across
the country. Studies suggest that ART helps prevent the transmission from
mother to child, which explains the fall in numbers,” he says. Dr. Ravindran has
been interacting with HIV patients since 1989 and is one of the founding members of the AIDS Society of India. 

The treatment has major implications for HIV-positive
children, says Father Mathew Perumpil, a trained counsellor and the director of
Snehagram. They were “a group we
never expected to see grow into teenagers, much less reach adulthood. The
introduction of ART meant patients could survive – and thrive.”

Except, how do you thrive in the face of vicious
social stigma?

Snehagram was set up in 2002 to give HIV-impacted
children a comfortable life until their premature death. However, as ART began to succeed, the
founders had to ensure their wards were equipped with skills for a career. The medication's success prompted them to make this a vocational institute as well.

The youngsters here are completing their
secondary and higher secondary education under the National Institute of Open
Schooling. Their's will be the first batch to graduate once they finish Class 12. The institute hopes they will then be able to get jobs.  Meanwhile, outside of the classroom, they’re taught
organic and dairy farming, hydroponics and cooking, among other skills. But
teaching is just one way for kids to learn. Here, they’ve also built a system
where they make their own decisions and know their rights. Which is what Snehagram’s
mini parliament is about – fostering a sense of self-reliance.

The children here are orphans from poor
families in rural Tamil Nadu, Karnataka and Andhra Pradesh. Their fluency in
English has grown with their parliament system.

“Our education minister at the time
suggested we speak in English and not just in our local languages,” says Meena
Nagaraj, 17. “You need to know English to get a good job, right?” She is the
girls’ sports minister.

It’s Meena’s duty to make sure everyone
wakes up early so they can pack in a workout before the long school day.
Running kickstarts the routine, followed by a sport of their choice. A
structured exercise regime that keeps up immunity is crucial to their well-being.

Speaking of crucial – one dose of
antiretroviral medication must be taken every night to suppress the virus.  That’s all you need today – a single tablet
that controls one of the most feared viruses in the world. The health
ministers, Ambika Ramesh, 16, and Lakshmikanth, play a vital role in ensuring
that all the 65 students take their medication every night. “Forgetting that
tiny capsule is risky, but they do not slip,” says Mathew.

It’s a sound system. “We have a strong
head of opposition who keeps us in check. Every fortnight the parliament meets
and discusses the agenda. The opposition’s job is to make sure we do as pledged. Sometimes, we’re appreciated,” says Kaleshwar, 17,
law and home minister. 

What are they most proud of about their
parliament? That nine other schools have
been inspired to emulate their system.

Its structure mirrors that of India’s parliament.
And their practice is serious. The environment minister ensures that all
produce grown on this 17-acre campus is organic. And the boys do take it to
town. They supply vegetables to a clientele of nearly 400 people and save the money
from these sales.

Their vegetables also go into
the food that the children are encouraged to cook once every week. Boys one
week and girls the next, but both camps are quick to claim they are better at
it than the other. 

“Why don’t you come and taste our food?” asks Vanitha, 17, the deputy prime minister. “This Sunday, it’s our turn to cook.”

 “Then I
suggest you give this Sunday a miss,” says a cheeky Lakshmikanth. 

That banter is a relief in a wider society where HIV
jokes and ignorance of the virus are the norm.

“Many people will not eat here when they come to
visit the kids.  ‘We are fasting today’ –
even educated people say things like that,” observes Mathew.

So, are these children, who are now so used to
such an inclusive environment, aware of the stigma?

“Oh yes. They are very aware. Only a couple of
their close relatives might know of their condition and they don’t talk about
it to the others.” If it gets known “they are not given the same plate to eat
on, back home,” says Mathew.  ‘’It’s a
mindset. The discrimination can be obvious or subtle, as it is with caste.”

Throughout the day, I rarely see Manik Prabhu,
the prime minister, break his smile. I am guessing his genial disposition may
have helped him get the votes for the top job.

He’s also an athlete, whose talent has taken him
far and wide. To the famous Boston Marathon, to one in the Netherlands and
closer home, to Colombo, Sri Lanka. 

“HIV isn’t a full stop and I want to be a source
of hope for others with the disease,” he says.

My learning for the day: Yes, Manik and his
friends have HIV – but HIV doesn’t have them.

Krishnagiri’s House of Uncommons

ਕ੍ਰਿਸ਼ਨਾਗਿਰੀ ਦੀ ਵਿਲੱਖਣ ਸੰਸਦ

"ಕೃಷ್ಣಗಿರಿಯ ವಿಶೇಷ ಸಂಸತ್"

கிருஷ்ணகிரியில் அரிதானவர்களின் அன்புள்ளம்:

କ୍ରିଷ୍ଣଗିରିର ଅସାଧାରଣମାନଙ୍କ ଘର

कृष्णागिरि की अनोखी संसद

कृष्णगिरीचे ‘दिवान-इ-खास’

কৃষ্ণাগিরির খুদে সংসদের (অ)সাধারণ সভা

کرشنا گیری کی انوکھی پارلیمنٹ

Nachikuppam

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Krishnagiri’s House of Uncommons

‘Model’ parliaments of students are common, but the one at Snehagram, in Tamil Nadu’s Krishnagiri district, is not. Its teenaged members run a round-the-year government under irreversibly tragic conditions

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